


Mirror, Mirror

by dracoqueen22



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Dom/sub, Light Bondage, M/M, Rare Pairing, Spark Sex, Tactile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-11 16:38:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, all Sunstreaker wants is to put himself in someone else's capable hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror, Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tf-rare-pairing's weekly challenge.

He's trembling before the first cuff snaps around his wrist, heat swirling a mad path inside of him.  
  
Sunstreaker groans, optics fritzing with static, his plating clamped tightly around his frame.  
  
He can still hear echoes. Can still see ghostly flickers. And all he wants is for them to go away.  
  
The stasis cuffs snap around his wrists. The defining click sounds like it resonates inside of Sunstreaker, signalling what's to come.  
  
A light tremble rattles his plating and the cuffs, which keep his arms lifted above his helm and out to the side. He's on his knees, body stretched taut, exposed.  
  
He ex-vents noisily, already feeling the charge dancing across his circuits, anticipation building to a rampant arousal.  
  
An equally warm frame presses against him from behind, exventing a heated burst of air against his dorsal plating. Arms wrap around Sunstreaker, white fingers splaying across his chestplate. An engine revs, vibrating through Sunstreaker's frame.  
  
He moans, helm falling back, body arching.  
  
The hand creeps up, gripping his chin, forcing his helm back up. Forcing him to look straight ahead, where several mirrors have been positioned for best visibility. The lights above are even aimed to optimize the effect.  
  
Sunstreaker can see himself. Chained. On his knees, which have been spread to the flexibility limits of his pelvic joints. He's one long, lean line of golden armor, polished to perfection.  
  
The arms wrapped around him are a gorgeous contrast. Black plating and white hands in stark counterpoint to his golden plating.  
  
His partner is bathed in the shadows, only a hint of his doorwings arching from behind Sunstreaker. Most visible is his optics, bright blue as they appear just behind Sunstreaker's right shoulder. A mouth traces the edge of his helm vent.  
  
Sunstreaker shudders.  
  
The hand remains on his chin, keeping him pinned, his optics focused on the mirror. He can feel the other hand exploring, moving downward, fingers splaying over his ventral armor. He can see the hand moving, the slow trek, the dip into sensitive crevices, stroking over charged circuits.  
  
Sunstreaker moans, arching forward and back, unsure where he wants to go, his ventilations staggered and rough. Heat swells through him, static leaping into view on his armor, dancing bright in the room.  
  
His partner rumbles in encouragement. “You're beautiful,” he says, words a delicate purr in Sunstreaker's audials. “So beautiful. See yourself? How you submit to me. So beautiful, Sunstreaker.”  
  
His fingers twitch, balling into fists. But the chains are strong, the cuffs built to keep warriors like Sunstreaker in line.  
  
His partner's fingers dip into the gap between his plating at hip and thigh, finding a hydraulic line and stroking the tense motion cords.  
  
“You have to tell me what you want,” his partner continues, glossa trickling over Sunstreaker's helm vents and sliding lower, teasing at his sensitive neck cables. “What you need. Just ask. I'll give it. You know I will. But you have to tell me.”  
  
Sunstreaker's vocalizer crackles. He sags in the chains, lacking the effort to hold himself up, pleasure seeping into every inch of his frame. He's trembling from his helm to his knees, plating lifted in open invitation.  
  
“Touch me,” he says, voice a feral growl of need. “ _Please_.”  
  
“With pleasure.”  
  
The hand finally leaves his helm and Sunstreaker forces himself not to look away, to instead watch as those white hands explore him.  
  
Gliding over his chestplate.  
  
Tracing his Autobot symbol over and over.  
  
Cupping the plating at his pelvis, dipping into gaps in his frame, tugging on motion cables usually protected by his armor.  
  
Grabbing a bundle of cables and tugging on them, pleasure just on the edge of pain, pain that makes Sunstreaker groan and seek more.  
  
Sliding down his sides with a long, tantalizing burr of metal on metal, causing vibrations to dance through Sunstreaker's protoform.  
  
He moans, ventilations coming sharper and faster. His spark spins in its chamber, eager to break free.  
  
As if sensing his need, his partner's hands drift back upward, seeking and finding the tiny latches that lock Sunstreaker's chest armor into place.  
  
“Shall I?” His partner asks, teasingly flicking the latches with his fingers. “If you want me to, you'll have to say it. You'll have to ask me for it.”  
  
Sunstreaker moans. “Please.”  
  
“Please what?”  
  
He arches forward, trying to push his chassis into his partner's hands. “My spark,” Sunstreaker pleads, his chamber feeling fit to burst, energy pulsing at the metallic confines.  
  
“As you wish.”  
  
The latches flick and his chestplate disengages. His partner sets it off to the side before his hands return, gliding over Sunstreaker's bared chassis.  
  
In the mirror, he can see the lighter plating beneath, a paler gold in color, but still not his protoform. Sunstreaker watches as a white finger traces the nearly invisible join in the chest armor, static crawling over the seam.  
  
“Open.”  
  
Sunstreaker's ventilations hitch, responding without fully considering the request. His armor parts gradually, inch by inch, partitions sliding aside to reveal the pale glow of his spark. The energy curls outward, lazy but eager, lapping at the white fingers exploring the edges of his spark chamber.  
  
The mirror reflects it all.  
  
Sunstreaker completely open, completely vulnerable. A mech could walk in and offline Sunstreaker before he could so much as flinch. He's bound, pinned, trapped in an embrace. And white-plated hands are ghosting around the edges of his greatest weakness, teasing each curl of energy as it arcs from his spark.  
  
“So beautiful,” his partner whispers, nuzzling against the side of his helm, engine revving loudly against Sunstreaker's back.  
  
One hand dares dip beyond the boundaries of Sunstreaker's plating, caressing the edges of his chamber, coming dangerously close to the insubstantial core of Sunstreaker's very being. The inexplicable mini-sun that gives him life.  
  
Sunstreaker moans, energy surges coming more and more frequently now, dancing on the edge of overload. His partner presses against him from behind, as if to remind him that he is safe, that he is not alone.  
  
“I can tell that you're close,” he says, nuzzling against Sunstreaker's sensitive neck cables. “Overload for me, beautiful. Let go. Don't hold back. I've got you.”  
  
 _I've got you._  
  
The words echo back and forth in Sunstreaker's processor. He struggles to draw in air through his vents, pleasure dancing bright ecstasy over every circuit, every line, every sensor.  
  
His spark spins brighter and hotter, nearly blinding in the reflection of the mirror. His optics are focused on the sight of it, of himself, of the blue optics just over his shoulder. Watching. Waiting. Protecting.  
  
Sunstreaker's backstrut curves, frame a restless twitch without restraint. So close.  
  
“Let go,” his partner murmurs, fingers tracing the edges of his spark chamber over and over, in demanding circles.  
  
“Nnngh.” He groans, vocalizer struggling to spit more than static.  
  
“C'mon, sweetspark. _Let go_.”  
  
“Nnn-Bluestreak!” A loud cry escapes his vocalizer and Sunstreaker feels something break inside, freeing him.  
  
His entire frame arches, helm jerking back, knocking against Bluestreak as he writhes with overload. The smell of hot metal and scorched circuits fills the air and Sunstreaker thrashes against the chains, cinched almost to the point of pain. Energy crackles out from his protoform, surging into the air with visible licks of static.  
  
The pleasure is intense, making him keen, until it leaves him in a rush and Sunstreaker sags in the chains, helm dipping, losing his focus on the mirror. He feels exhausted, hydraulics strained, ventilations ragged.  
  
“It's okay,” Bluestreak murmurs, one arm hooked around Sunstreaker's chassis as the other reaches up to loosen his wrists from the cuffs. “I've got you.”  
  
Sunstreaker cycles his vocalizer, leaning heavily on his partner. “I know,” he says, leaving himself in Bluestreak's capable hands.  
  
He distantly notes that Bluestreak is taking away the cuffs and chains. He feels weightless as Bluestreak tugs him fully onto the berth, where he sprawls strutless and satisfied. The scent of overload is thick in the air and Sunstreaker feels a soft smile curl his lipplates.  
  
Sunstreaker watches Bluestreak take the chains down, roll them up, stow them somewhere for the next time. The lights are still on by the mirrors, the reflective surfaces catching bits of movement, showing a shadowy room.  
  
Bluestreak comes back with a cube of energon that they split between them, the fresh, solar-refined taste of it dancing on Sunstreaker's glossa. But better than that is the smile on Bluestreak's face.  
  
“Better?”  
  
Sunstreaker shifts over on the berth, patting the padded surface in invitation. One that Bluestreak accepts, climbing up next to him.  
  
“Now I am,” Sunstreaker replies, his spark humming with easy content.  
  
Bluestreak tucks his chin under Sunstreaker's, doorwings flattening against his back. Sunstreaker can look over his partner's helm, see the shadowed reflection of themselves in the mirror. It's an image draped in mystery. He might try drawing it someday, when the war is over.  
  
“Blue?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
Bluestreak drapes a hand over his hip, pressing a kiss to Sunstreaker's bare chestplate. “Anytime, Sunstreaker.”  
  
***


End file.
